Eternal Darkness: Sanity's Evocation
by Shukun Shinigami
Summary: Roivas family and its associates were able to prevent the Darkness from overcoming humanity. But now, in another dimension and reality where the Roivas family never exists....what will happen? Will the Darkness prevail or fail? The fate lies within....
1. Prelude to Darkness: The Awakening

**_Prelude to Darkness:_**

The Awakening. . .

Salvatore Stagioni quickly raised his back off his bed's mattress.  He was frightened, and it showed, for his big, brown eyes were wide as his mouth was hanging agape while a few strands of his thick, somewhat long black hair clung closely to his forehead.  Salvatore's muscular, slim chest was now puffing in and out, the man breathing very heavily, demonstrating his fear as he was now wearing it on his face, open to all.  

He blinked, realizing that he had just awoke from another bizarre dream, one that had truly scared the wits out of him. Salvatore's dream was so terrifying that it turned his tanned skin pale and made it sticky, feverish, and clammy.  His sweaty, sticky skin caused his black t-shirt and slacks to cling to his body like a leech would adhere itself to flesh. 

Salvatore was truly horrified, yet as he sat on top of the bed he wasted not a second of his time for he immediately looked around the room, taking his eyes and scanning everything.  Sal was trying to be as analytical as he could, and to most this would seem odd; however, for those that knew him it would be normal.  After all, one would hope for a detective to be very analytical, as that was their nature; yet he was a bit more analytical than most, and because of this he usually drove everyone around him mad.  This was simply because he would use his analyzing techniques to the point of ad nauseam.  

As he sat atop the firm and soft mattress Sal began to twist and turn his head and waist to the right, left, up, down, and around, curiously looking about his surroundings. He was hearing voices coming from all around him, tearing into his mind. The cries of young schoolgirls filled the air, their sweet and soft voices entering into his head, filling him up with a myriad of torturous comments as they demanded that he murder and give in to something that he couldn't quite make out due to their inaudibility. However, instead of asking these voices what they were implying he made no such retort. Salvatore refused to reply because he doubted that they were even there, thinking that he was beginning to go insane.

Then, without warning, in what seemed like the blink of an eye all the voices stopped crying out to him, causing silence to overcome the room.  With the silence restored Sal began to shift his eyes to the right, left, and forwards in rapid succession, going so fast that one would swear he looked like a man struck by a state of paranoia since he was acting so panicky over something so trivial.  It was to his belief that ghosts couldn't harm him.  In fact, he even believed that ghosts, demons, and other deities beyond this realm didn't even exist, for there was no logical proof of them.  Because of his beliefs he regarded those that did believe in things not of this realm as foolish and should probably seek out help.  Still, though—the thought of spirits lurking in his room and asking him to kill was a frightening offer indeed; it even worried him.

"This can't be." said Sal as he continued to sit on the bed, doubting his own aspect on specters, wondering if maybe he was wrong.  He wouldn't have long to ponder on the existence of ghosts, for another realization suddenly dawned upon him.  When it did, Sal immediately looked down at his legs only to notice that there was no bed sheet over his body.  This wasn't much a problem, for Sal had frequently come home after a long day's work at the police station, and once he did Salvatore would almost always fall onto his bed and go to sleep, even when fully-dressed.  What did make this situation unique was that one major occurrence was different from his normal routine, and he never broke his routine.   His habit was that even though he would seldom fall to sleep on his bed, even if fully-dressed, he would always cover himself up.  It was something not even he understood.  Perhaps Salvatore felt secure with the sheet, perhaps not.  What he did know was that he always had it over him when he woke up, and this time it wasn't there.  This bothered him, for Sal knew that he was a creature of habit, and always did things precisely; it was his way.

He quickly started to think about what he had done prior to falling asleep, and the only thing that continued to echo throughout the recesses of his mind was that he was watching television right before he had blacked out.  So, Sal raised his head up to look at the television; however, eerily enough, to his utter dismay and astonishment when he saw the TV it was as black as the deepest regions of space, not even so much as a sound emitted from the speakers.  It was off.  Sal immediately gulped at this while staring into the deep abyss, swallowing a cold, hard lump of saliva down his throat as he was now truly scared and worried for his safety and sanity.   "Am I going insane?!" He wondered.  Salvatore was now beginning to question whether his own senses had become dulled.   Then, when the silence became so unbearable that he didn't think he could take it anymore, the telephone rang, breaking through the eerie ambiance, allowing him to once again drift back into the safety of his reality.   Salvatore looked over at the phone, and upon the second ring, he quickly seized it by its handle, and brought it up to his face, and began to speak.

"Hey?"  spoke Salvatore into the phone with a somewhat disillusioned and aloof tone to his thick New York accent. "Who's this?"

"It's me, Michel."  With this, Sal grinned, his smile breaking through the desolation that had once consumed him, bringing a bit of joy back into his life.  He was now a little bit more at harmony with himself, especially since he was speaking with his brother, the one he had considered to be his best friend.

"Hey, Michel!  It's late.  What do you want?" said Salvatore with a somewhat scornful yet very quick and zestful tone to his voice, a tone far different than the one he had only seconds ago when he answered the phone.   He was happy that it was his brother and not some other person, for Sal didn't have the patience to deal with someone else this time of night. "What do you need?"

"I'll tell you how it is.  We got problems."  Michel said as he tried to sound happy and full of life, though the stagnant taste of depression lingered in his voice.  "So, don't be so laid back and joyful right now."

"Why not?"  He questioned, absolutely puzzled. "What's wrong?  And what's with the melodramatics?  Why're ya always so dramatic, Michel?  Did dad make you read Shakespeare too much?  I always told him that reading that stuff would make you a fruit some day.  I didn't think it'd really happen!  Really, I swear!"  Sal was obviously joking a bit, nagging on his younger brother, for it was something he's done since childhood.

"…that's not funny.  And now's not the time for jokes."

"Right.  Right.  Sheesh.  What do you want then?  Quit bustin' my balls and get to the point."

"OK.  Well, the truth is…I don't know what's going on.  That's why I called you.  There's been a problem."

"What kinda problem?" replied Salvatore with a demanding tone to his voice, now beginning to get a bit annoyed.  "What're ya talking about?  Get to the point, Michel.  It's 4:00 in the morning.   You woke me from my sleep."  Salvatore was lying, but this wasn't that much of an unusual trait for him, after all, he had lied many times before, so why would this one be any different?  Besides, he didn't think there was that big of a deal in lying to him.  After all, he would have been woken up anyway, had he not of waken due to his nightmare, which was all he thought it was now.

"Well, Sal, you might want to brace yourself."

"Oh?  Why?  What's happened now?  Why should I brace myself?  What do I have to brace myself for?  Is the Pope coming from Rome today?  Is he visiting my house?  No?  Then what is so important that I have to brace myself?"  Sal said with a very, very jocular tone to his voice, a bit of a laugh coming through his words.  He never did understand the proverb 'brace yourself'.  On the other line, however, there was no response, no laugh, nothing to clarify that his small joke had been funny.  This was when Sal knew it was serious.  "Michel?"

"No, he's not coming."  Michel said, disheartened.  "I'm at dad's house."

"Wait, dad's house?"  Salvatore was now raising the tone of his voice, for he didn't like his father much.  After all, the man had constantly tried to force history on him when he knew that it was his least favorite subject.  Sal had hated history with a passion, yet his father had insisted he learn it, that and the fact that nothing he ever did was good enough for the man left a very bitter taste in his mouth when it came to talking about him.  Still, even though he hated his father, Sal was curious as to what was wrong, and why Michel was there.  Salvatore was especially curious about this because the same thing happen to Michel, causing him to also not like their father for what he had done.  'So,' Sal thought, 'If Michel's there, something must be up.  He wouldn't go all the way down there on January 3rd just to visit. "What's wrong, man?  What's happened?"

"Well, much.  Everyone's gone.  Everyone in the house has just suddenly disappeared.  Not even a picture of anyone remains in the house." said Michel with an absolutely somber tone to his voice.  It was then that the soft sound of sobbing started to fill the phone, the sound ringing through Sal's ears.  The sound was faint, but it was still discernable. "Dad called me last night.  He sounded as though he were panicking, as if he were scared out of his mind.  It was as though he was frightened and worried for his and our very existence.  And then he said something to me, but I couldn't quite make it what it was. After that the phone cut out, and that was the last I heard from him.  I immediately tried to call him back, yet I received no response.  Nothing at all.  So, I called again an hour later, and still nothing.  Finally, I tried to call him back again today, yet still, no response.  So, I took a plane down here.  When I got here I checked the answering machine and what I saw was something horrible.  It appears that all of his messages are still here.  Every one I left him, still here."  There was nothing but silence from Salvatore, for he had no idea what he should say.  He hated his father, but he never wanted this to happen.  Never in his life, especially since his mother and sister were also gone.  This was more than he could bear.  

"Now, I'm here.  I have no idea what to do.  I was wondering, since you are a detective, if you'd be able to make it down here to find out what happened to them?  I'm worried.  I'm very worried."

"I-…" Sal wasn't sure what to think or say.  He hated his father with all his soul, yet loved his mother and sister more than that.  Salvatore couldn't bear to think that they would be harmed.  Never could he allow such a thing to happen.  He knew what he had to do—he had to help, even if he hated his father.  "-…I will be there immediately.  I'll take the next plane…"

"Thank you.  See you soon…" 

"Soon, Michel.  I'll see you soon." and with that said, Michel hung up the phone.  Sal, however, did not, for he just sat there while staring blankly off into space, still holding the phone in his hand, unable to believe what he had just heard.  He began to wonder-he began to wonder if what he was experiencing was a dream.  Sal truly hoped it was, for this was something he didn't want to happen--something he never thought could happen.  Then, without further ado, Salvatore finally hung up the phone, his soul somewhat at ease as his mind was now beginning to work analytically once again.  He knew he had to get to his father's house as soon as possible, no matter the consequences.   So with that thought in mind he quickly leaped out of bed, jumped into his brown leather shoes, and looked down at the small wooden chair where he had placed his long, black trench coat.  Sal seized the coat by its sleeve and without haste slid it onto his frame, his broad shoulders making it fit somewhat awkwardly.  He immediately grabbed his gun holster, which was just lying loosely atop the wooden seat of the chair, there for anyone to grab.  Sal noticed that the gun was still in it, loaded with its bullets.  This was good for Sal since he didn't have to search for it.  So, with the gun holster in his hands he quickly wrapped it around the left side of his mahogany belt and fastened the strap very tightly, making sure it would not come undone.  With it on his side Salvatore patted the gun holster and turned around to face the door, gazing at it for just a moment.  

 Finally, now bearing all the necessary possessions Salvatore would need he bolted out the front door of his apartment, running as fast as his legs could carry him.  He was now racing to the airport, and knew he had to get there as soon as possible…


	2. Prelude to Darkness: Once a Dream, Now ...

**_Prelude to Darkness:  Part II:  _**

Once a Dream, Now Reality. . .

          The old cherry oak door to the Stagioni Manor slowly crept open.  As the door opened, it brought such a great amount of apprehension that it seemed as if the one opening the door had been reluctant to even enter the house; and while it did so it made not even the slightest of noises.  So silent was the door while it was being opened that it seemed as if all time had suddenly stopped whilst the one opening the door continued to reveal what lie on the other side.  The silence of the door demonstrated to its opener that it had been very well-oiled, probably by the owners of the building.   

When the door was halfway open a face popped out through the crack in the door.  The face was that of a young Italian man, no older than twenty four.  His deep, chocolate brown eyes were immediately overpowered by the surprisingly well-lit brightness that lurked beyond the door.  His eyes beginning to close as the light inside the main foyer burned into them.  The room was so bright, in fact, that if asked about its limpidity he would have nonchalantly responded by saying it was brighter than the very sun itself; however, even that was an exaggeration of the truth, for the room simply appeared brighter than it was, and the reason for this was because his eyes were adjusted to darkness rather than brightness.  Still, though, his aggrandizement of the room's limpidness was nothing to take lightly, after all, the room was definitely bright. 

With his eyes now adjusted to the brilliance that lurked beyond the door he decided to not waste another second of his time as he carefully slid through the crack in the door.  As Sal moved through the door's breach the tails of his long black trench coat freely brushed against the wooden siding of the door.  

When he was almost free of the archway of the door the top of his shiny black shoe slammed into the firm wooden panel that lined the doorway.  Not realizing this until it was too late, the man continued to walk by leaning forward until his foot pulled him back in the direction of the door, causing him to stumble backwards.  He immediately retaliated by pulling himself forward, causing even more stumbling to occur.  By now he was an amusing sight indeed, for he was staggering through the main foyer of the house like a drunk would while coming out of a bar after five o'clock in the morning after drinking there all night.  The bottoms of his black shoes slammed into the hollowed-out wooden floor, the sound of his soles stomping around the area echoing throughout the entire foyer of the manor like a bad aroma would linger inside of an enclosed box.

The man immediately seized control of his body, suddenly coming to an immediate halt, no longer making even the slightest of noises or movements.   He stood there for a moment, his eyes as still and emotionless as the water in a calm pond, reflecting his somewhat stiff and at the same time slouching posture.  This man was none other than Salvatore Stagioni, the detective son of Giuseppe and Maria Stagioni, and the brother of Michel and Sela Stagioni.  He was here for one reason and one reason only:  to find his brother, Michel, and then investigate his family's disappearance. 

Though Sal traditionally appeared to be the strongest of men when it came to his emotions, the man seemed worried, as the look of bewilderment ran rampant across his face, marching around as though it had seized complete control over his emotions.  It was as though all of his feelings were treading across his face, causing him to look the way he appeared.  It truly was a disheartening sight indeed.

"M-Michel!?" shouted Sal, trying to sound cheerful even though his heart and mind wrung with fear and confusion.  He had hoped for a response, even if it was the angry tone of his brother yelling at him or complaining about something he had done.  Something, anything would suffice.  Sal wanted anything to break through the quiet shroud that had covered the area around him, for it was just too chilling.  

A minute passed, yet silence continued to endure in the solitary confinement of the foyer.  It was with this; after he received no confirmation that Michel was around when Sal decided he might call out to his brother once more, hoping this time to be successful.   The reason why he would call out to him once more could probably be associated with hope, as it was a natural human reaction to want hope in frightening situations.  He thought that maybe he didn't hear him.  Maybe he was busy?  Maybe he was exploring the house by himself?  Though, he didn't believe any of these, for Sal knew that none of them were true.  Salvatore just knew that his brother wasn't one to veer off a set path he had made for himself, for he had always made it a point to stick to a plan, no matter what happens, and the plan was for them to meet.  So, without any more delay, he took it upon himself to believe in a false sense of hope, wishing for his brother to call out to him. 

**"MICHEL!?!" Salvatore shouted with a louder pitch than before, his voice echoing throughout the manor's foyer like it would in the deepest regions of a cave. "Where are you?" **

_". . . Are you even here?"_ muttered Salvatore underneath his breath with a slight hint of apprehension that colored the quality of his tongue.  His voice was barely audible to anyone but himself he spoke so softly.  It was as if he had become silenced by the fear which had so powerfully consumed him; yet he wasn't void of emotions any more.  He was beginning to overcome whatever fear had consumed him, and it started to show, too.   Sal was now moving his eyes to and fro, looking at everything in the foyer, gazing at it all with an overly-scrupulous eye, making sure he knew exactly how it looked so that if anything entered the house or if anything had been adjusted then he would know about it, and be able to defend himself from it.

Five minutes had passed since Salvatore called out to his brother and still, no response from anyone or anything; and there didn't seem to be any forthcoming responses, either.  With this realization the young Italian man let out a soft sigh of depression, beginning to become overpowered by wondering where his family had gone to, for he was now the only one left besides his aunts and uncles; but they were moot at this point.  All he wanted was for his core family to be back, and then he would be happy.  Sal knew that he needed to assume the worst, for it was what he was taught by the Academy, and it's also what he told all the families of the victims in his previous cases.  So now surely he couldn't be a hypocrite, not when his own family was on the line; besides—he hated hypocrites.

With that thought in his head Salvatore quickly began to recover his mind and form, immediately straightening himself out as his posture started to become more refined.  

Salvatore was now no longer slouching over; rather, instead his mien was of a gentleman.  This gave Sal a very self-assured stance as he stood before the deep, cherry oak steps that reached off of the lower-floor, extending up to the upper-floor, his eyes trailing the golden railing that lined the steps.  

His eyes finally stopped when they reached the large, cherry oak door lined with a golden rim, the lining shimmering as the light hit it, reflecting back at the source of the light.  Sal blinked for a moment, and in-between his blink, in the span of a second he started to reminisce through his younger years, when he was still living with his father—when he was still living in this house.  

He recollected the many times that he had run down the stairs and the many more times that he had fallen down them, as well.  Sal continued to play a memory of the times when his father was nice to him, helping him up after he had fallen down the stairs, and finally being what he wanted him to be—a father.  He also remembered the times when both he and his father would explore the manor, for reasons his father dubbed to be for fun, though they usually evolved into more than that.  Because of all these experiences in running around his house and always exploring it Sal knew what lurked at the top of the stairs; at least, he thought he knew what was up there.

Suddenly, as he started to raise his right foot, drawing it closer to the edge of the old wooden stairs Sal froze, standing absolutely still as a great deal of fright rang through his ears, echoing throughout his mind, pulsating in his brain.  The sound continued to linger, remaining there in his head for what seemed like a minute.  It was only after the first noise had subsided that he realized what it was, and it scared him, just a little bit.  

It was the sound of the answering machine beeping.  The tone was rather loud and eerie; so eerie that they broke through the silence that had consumed the foyer like a butcher knife would slice through warm butter.

With the silence severed Salvatore quickly withdrew his foot from the lower ledge of the wooden stairway, bringing it down to rest on the floor.  Having his foot now on the secure floor of the manor Sal twisted his frame around, taking his legs and bringing them so that he was now facing the area where the beeping had come from.

What his eyes saw was something that was silly, yet something that frightened the man.  In fact, it was so bewitching in regards to fear that it caused his body to once again become stiff.  He was now frozen in the same way he had been before, with his jaw hanging loosely as his face set with a baffled expression.   His eyes were wide with astonishment as they were staring at one thing, and one thing only—the deadly crimson flickering of light that emanated off of the answering machine's crimson bulb.  It was just as his brother had said.  None of the messages had been checked.  

Normally this wouldn't make much of a difference, after all, his brother DID say that the messages were left unchecked, and that wasn't what Sal was bothered by at all.  What really bothered Salvatore was that his brother said that _his _messages were unchecked.  This caused Sal to wonder how Michel knew that the messages, which were on the answering machine, were the same ones that his brother had sent his father.   

Quickly, and almost without thought Sal raced to the answering machine and immediately slammed his thumb into the button that would allow him to hear the messages, dying to hear what his brother had said, and dying to hear the voice of at least one of his family members.  He noticed that there were four messages on the machine, and he knew this because of the number that was displayed on the small screen.  Then, the first message began, and when it did he blocked out everything else except for the words of the message…

"Hello?  Mom?  Dad?  Sela?  Anyone?  IS ANYONE THERE?!  HELLO?!  Dad?  What did you want?!  Why'd you call me, and then hang up just as you were about to finish?  Hee--. . . " the message cut out, and when it did, a very, very odd screeching noise started to play in its place, a noise that sounded like nails being taken across a chalkboard.  The message machine then beeped, and moved on to the next message.

"Hey?  Anyone there?  Dad?!  Come on!  Stop messing around!  Why did you call me last night and then hang up?  What do you want?"  Silence endured for a moment, and then a screechy and somewhat soft voice interrupted the message. 

"Come and see…" spoke the soft, eternal voice.  The recording then cut out after those everlasting words.  Words that were etched into the back of Salvatore's mind.  The machine let out a long, stretched out beep that seemed to be caused by a distortion in the tape.  After the beep had subsided, the message played.

"That's it.  Mom, Dad, Sela, I'm coming down to Baltimore.  I'll see you soon."  And with that, the machine beeped for the fourth and final time.   This time, a sort of alien tone replacing the other more electronic tone.

"Hey, Sal.  It's me, Michel.  Obviously, you've listened to the other messages, so you know what they entail.  You've undoubtedly heard that none of our family has responded as well.  And I know that you've seen nobody has checked the messages, either.  If you are listening to this then, well. . . there's been a complication.  I was originally going to meet you, but since I'm not here, I want you to go into Dad's room.  That's where I am.  I can't wait to see you, for I've found something in the attic while I was exploring the house.  I took it into Dad's room, and I'm about to go read it, and, well. . . you know how I get when I read.  I just zone out."  And with that said, Salvatore smiled a beautiful, joyful smile.  Sal was very pleased to hear that his brother was still around, for he was having doubts of his existence for a couple minutes.  As he started to walk away from the answering machine, he heard the same soft, vicious voice echo out of the machine's speakers…

"Salvatore…_escape_!  _LEAVE THIS HOUSE!_  Don't go to your brother!  _Leave. . ."_

This voice had burned into the man's very soul, and he knew that it would stay with him for as long as he would remember.  This obviously scared and worried Sal, leaving a facade of bewilderment behind.  Instead of stopping dead in his tracks like he would normally do, Salvatore no longer listened to the voice.  He had finally gained control of his stupor, and because of this he realized the absurdity of being afraid of a mere voice.  He suddenly figured out that he was just losing a bit of his sanity, and nothing more.  This didn't bother him too much, for it was the least of his worries.

Now, free of worry Sal raced up the cherry oak stairs, taking his hand across the rail, tracing it along as he advanced up the old stairway.   A minute passed when he reached the summit of the stairway, standing before the door that would lead him into the next sector of the house when he started to advert his sight from the door, looking to the left and then to the right.  Sal remembered the house very well, and because of this he knew that there were two doors on both sides on the upper level of the house, save the one before him.

Knowing very well that the doors to his sides were, as of this moment, trivial, Sal decided to take the one standing in front of him, for this was the door that would lead him to his father's room.  

He quickly grasped the burning silver knob of the door, his warm flesh melting into the dead-cold doorknob, feeling its frozen touch bite into his skin like a snake.  Knowing the gravity of the situation, and wanting to see his brother as soon as possible Salvatore twisted the handle of the door, opening it as quick as he possibly could.  When it was open he stepped underneath the old archway, entering the main hall of the house that would lead him to his father's room.  

When he was in the hallway the door slammed shut behind him with such a great deal of force that it seemed as though a great gust of wind had taken control over it.  Yet this wasn't possible for there wasn't any way that wind could have made it into this house, especially where he was.

Shrugging it off, Salvatore trudged down the dim hallway, the corridor nearly bleak of light sans the many candles that had been lined along the top of the walls, placed so that they were parallel from one another.  

After much walking Sal reached the door that led into his father's room, and when he did he wasted not a second of his time by opening the door, slamming it open in a humorous way, expecting to see his brother on the other end, face buried in the book.  

His jaw dropped in disbelief and his hands trembled in fear as the backside of the door smacked into the white Victorian-style wallpaper that lined the walls; which immediately ripped the wallpaper, tearing some of it off of the wall, causing it to inevitably fall loosely to the floor below.  This would have to be fixed, no doubt; though that surely wasn't what was on his mind right now—he had greater problems to attend to, such as looking at the room, for it was very interesting to say the least. 

The room was surprising well-lit by a small little ivory lamp with a black shade that was still on, brightening the room, but only slightly.  The lamp was resting atop a small little mahogany nightstand, which was sitting next to his father's large wooden bed.  A ruby red rug had been laid across the entire floor, completely covering the polished cherry oak flooring.  He would have smiled at this, if he had not been consumed by so many thoughts—so many, in fact, that he was beginning to get a headache just thinking about them they were so potent and abundant.  

One might ask what his thoughts were, and if you would have asked Sal he would have sugar-coated the truth.  The reasoning was so eccentric and bizarre that he wouldn't be able to put his thoughts into words, but not because he didn't have an extensive vocabulary, rest assured.  No, the real reason why he couldn't put them into words was simply because Sal felt that if he told anyone what he was thinking then he would be thrown into an insane asylum.  

Some would say Salvatore was locked in the state of fear because the room was exactly as he remembered it; though not as he expected it, for his brother, Michel, was no where to be seen.  This would be a logical reason for anyone to be scared out of their mind, and it would be acceptable as well; but it was far from the truth, though.  That wasn't why the Stagioni was in a state of awe.  The real reason as to why he was stunned and shocked was because ever since he woke up from his nightmare everything had gone exactly as it had gone in the nightmare that he had experienced prior to waking up.   He just couldn't believe it.

It was incredibly freaky to say the least.  In fact, Sal would swear that it was so similar that it seemed like deja vous; yet in a worse degree.  Salvatore immediately pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming, and realized that he wasn't.  He tried to see what else was inside the room, waiting for him, but he couldn't see just standing in the doorway.  So with this thought he took a deep breath, gulping at what he was staring at, and entered the room, pulling the door behind him so that it would close.  

When he was inside the room, by himself, Sal's eyes started to analyze everything with explicit detail.  There was a reason why he became a detective, after all, and it showed every time he had to go to work.  

However, he wouldn't get to analyze anything at all, for just as he started to inspect the room his eyes fell upon something that he would never forget, not even in his eldest years.  What he saw was something so horrible, so disgusting, and so vile that it would forever be sketched into the back of his skull like the distinguishable scent of a rotten egg would linger in a box.  

It was a book, yet no ordinary book, as he would soon find out.  In fact, someone would be mad to even assume that this book was in any way normal, just by looking at it.  The cover of the book seemed to be made from old, somewhat rotten stretched skin, and this was further proved by the book's cracked texture and its undeniable light brown color.

The book gave a strange, uneasy appearance indeed, for it was very large, and very thick; almost thicker than six and a half inches.   Also, aside from the thickness of the book, the texture, and color of it the next thing someone would notice would be that it had been sewn together by a magickal binding that seemed to just scream forth the demonic nature which was contained within.  The circular latch on the book's front was even lined with many bones, increasing its satanic feel.

With his eyes widening Salvatore hesitantly reached out to the book, and wasting not a second he snatched it up off of the deep brown mahogany dresser and brought it towards his chest, the weight of the book somewhat weighing his arms down, the man truly getting a real feel for the book.

Book in hand, the Stagioni turned around and approached the side of the bed.  In a way that seemed second-nature Sal sat down on top of the lush cushioning that it provided.  He knew that his brother was a reading fanatic, and because of this Sal knew Michel wouldn't leave a book unread-it just wasn't like him.  In this regard Michel was the opposite of Salvatore, for Sal despised reading.  The reasons were a bit long for him to recall right then, but the most profound one was when he was younger his teachers told his father that he had ADD because he didn't want to read.   So instead of just accepting it, what does his father do?  His father decided that it would be a better idea if he forced it upon his son with some of the largest and longest books conceived by man and had Sal read them aloud, word for word until he was done.  For this reason he hated both his father and reading even more.  Sal always did think it was funny.  He found it humorous that parents would try to change their child for the better, yet sometimes mess them up even more.  The funny thing was. . . Sal didn't have ADD.  All they had done was for nothing.  How foolish they were, he thought.  How foolish they were. . .

Still, though, this time he had to read-it was his prerogative.  It was the curiosity that drove him to read it.  Perhaps it was to remember better times; or maybe it was to get a better understanding of what his father kept, and what Michel had done last, just before he disappeared like the rest of his family.  

Either way, he had to do it, so without delay he placed his right hand atop the boney latch on the book's cover, and slowly raised the cover of the book, demonstrating what seemed to be the first page, littered with many, many words.  He knew that this was just the beginning.  Just the beginning to what would be a nightmare.

He read the first line, and his eyes widened in despair.  It would be a long night, indeed. . .


End file.
